Come In from the Rain
by maricsblade
Summary: Carver is happy to do Marian a favor and check in on Merrill in the Alienage. Any excuse to spend some time with the mysterious elven girl!  A drabble written for Merrill Fan Week on Tumblr.


Fat, icy raindrops landed in Carver's hair and trickled maddeningly down his scalp and the back of his neck. His shoulders hunched involuntarily against the discomfort. It had been raining for two days, and the whole of Kirkwall was shrouded in a cool, almost impenetrable gray mist that had snuffed out all but the most determined torches. As Carver skipped down the steps to the Alienage in his street clothes and oiled overcoat, he wondered why he hadn't picked another night to pay this visit.

Normally he'd have cursed Marian's request, for the simple fact it had come from Marian. Instead, he'd jumped at the chance to check in on Merrill. It was the perfect excuse to spend a couple of hours alone with her. He hadn't missed his sister's curious sidelong glance when he'd accepted the task without complaint.

On the brief walk from Gamlen's he found himself parsing every word he and Merrill had exchanged recently, every inquisitive glance they'd shared, trying to divine whether she truly took an interest in him or whether he'd simply imagined it all. How had mild interest turned to full-fledged mooning over the course of a fortnight? And how in Thedas could he feel this way about a _blood mage_?

He slowed as he approached her door, then rapped firmly three times, shuffling sideways to avoid the water that sluiced down from the roof of the apartment above.

Through the door, a thin, quavering voice asked, "Who is it?" He could tell by its volume that she was standing immediately opposite him on the other side. She really should have a peephole in a place like this…

"Merrill, it's Carver. Marian sent me to check on you, see how you're doing."

"Oh, a visitor! Lovely! Just a moment…" He heard prolonged fumbling with the latch, and what could only be Elvish curses. Then, more clearly, "Ah, there we go!" The door swung open and her enormous green eyes peered at him through the gloom.

"Uh…do I have leaves in my hair or something? Mind if I come in?"

"Oh, sorry! No, of course not!" She hurriedly pulled the door in behind her and made room for him to pass. "I'm sorry it's all such a wreck! It's a bad habit, leaving everything a mess and tidying up while visitors are here."

"It's fine," he assured her. He found a hook for his coat, shucked his shoes, and looked around for a place to sit. "May I?" he asked, pointing to the small table and chairs in one corner.

"Please! Can I get you something to drink?"

He sat down gingerly on one of the rickety old chairs. The finish had long ago worn from its arms, and it was missing a couple of spindles. "You don't have any ale, do you?" He was almost sure she wouldn't, but it didn't hurt to ask.

"So sorry, I don't," she said, wringing her hands. She cast about the flat as if she expected some to materialize out of nowhere. "Oh! But I do have some mulled wine that I could re-heat. Would you like some?"

"Mulled wine! Perfect on a night like this. Thank you." He admired her lithe form as she carried a small cast-iron pot over to the fireplace, and silently thanked the Maker that she had something alcoholic around to help take the edge off. "So this is your little home! Must be nice to have a place to yourself! If I have to spend another month under that git's roof, I swear I'll kill him in his sleep."

Merrill stopped in mid-stir and lifted the spoon from the pot. "Surely you wouldn't actually kill Gamlen? Is he really so bad?"

Carver burst out laughing at her stricken expression. "Oh, I don't suppose I would. It's just a figure of speech, Merrill. Still, of all the people in Kirkwall, I can't think of someone I'd want to live with _less_."

She resumed her stirring. "Well, living alone isn't so great. I have projects to keep me busy, of course, but it does get awfully dull sometimes."

"Yes, I guess it could. I'd still trade places, though." He imagined her lying in bed alone at night, and wondered if she was ever afraid. Perhaps not. From past comments, she seemed a bit clueless about the day-to-day crime in the Alienage.

"So, what have you been up to, then?"

He snorted. "What have we all been up to? Running 'errands' for my sister to help get ourselves free."

Merrill's eyes fell. "At least she takes you with her."

Maker, was she actually pouting? He knew she and Marian didn't get along, but she was the luckiest of them all, as far as he was concerned. "Just count your blessings, Merrill. Again, I'd trade places with you in a heartbeat."

They fell into silence for a couple of minutes. It wasn't nearly as awkward as he might have expected. It was quite peaceful, actually, with the crackling of the fire and the rain's soft patter on the cobblestones outside.

"Here we are," she said, wrapping the handle with a potholder and picking up two earthenware mugs on her way over to the table. She stood to his right as she poured the wine, and he was struck by the almost impossible grace of her long, slender wrists. In the next moment her leg brushed ever so slightly against his, and he had to warn himself not to pull her into his lap.

Instead, he wrapped both hands around his cup, warming them for a moment and watching steam rise and evaporate into the crisp, dry air. Then he raised it to his lips and draining it in one long go.

Merrill looked at him in surprise and seemed to take no notice of his mischievous grin. "Well! You must be quite thirsty! I'll just pour you another one, then."

She prepared another cup and placed it before him, and he chugged it in the same manner. She put her hands on her hips and stared at him in disbelief. "Carver, it can't be healthy to drink it so quickly! Can I get you some water instead?"

"Oh, no, thanks. I'm fine." He scooted his chair back, put his hands behind his head, and crossed his legs at the ankle, enjoying the feel of the wine warming his belly and the gentle buzz began to steal over him.

She poured a third mug for him, and one for herself, then finally sat down and took a sip.

"So, Merrill, tell me again what happened the Dalish. How did you end up here alone, with everyone terrified of you?"

Her red fingernails tapped the sides of her mug as she stared down into it. "Oh, you don't really want to hear about that, do you?"

"I do. Please. Humor me."

Her brows rose as she cocked her head at him. She gave a reluctant sigh. "All right."

She repeated the story she'd told when they'd all met, filling in the blanks here and there when he asked for details. Something stirred in his gut as he listened to her recount her tale. He found he still couldn't agree with her approach, but he was taken with just how firmly she believed in working for the benefit of her people. She'd become an outcast on purpose, realizing the immediate consequences of her actions and taking them anyway. Such courage she had. Meanwhile, he was the black sheep of his own family—and for what?

"I'm sorry you feel so alone," he said, when she had finished. "To some extent, I know what that feels like."

"But…you have a family. A mother. A sister." Her wistful smile made something ache in his chest.

"Have you seen the way my sister and I get along?" He rocked his chair back and let his head rest against the wall. "She always did know it all. And now all her friends hate me, too." His face fell. "Bloody darkspawn! Even Lothering was better than this place. It was tiny, but at least it was home."

Merrill looked forlornly at her hands. Suddenly, Carver brought his chair upright and smiled apologetically. "Look, I'm an idiot. I'm not making you feel any better, am I? Marian sent me over here to see how you're doing and cheer you up, not complain about my lot in life."

"It's all right. We're all having a hard time, in our own way." Her face brightened. "We could play a game," she added shyly.

"Great idea! Do you have some cards? A board?"

Her hopeful expression quickly turned to one of disappointment. "Well, no. I suppose not." She cupped her chin in her hand and looked up at the ceiling for a few moments, thinking. "I know! What about a drinking game?"

Carver looked at her and shook his head. "Did you…did you just suggest a _drinking game_?"

"Well, you know, I could really use the practice." Her eyes seemed to glance at everything in the room except at him. "You've seen me. One pint at the Hanged Man and I fall asleep and miss out on all the fun…"

"But you don't need a game to fix that. You just need to drink more. And more often."

Wait, what was he saying? He gave himself a mental slap. She'd just offered to get drunk with him. What was he doing turning her down? "This could be a start, though," he said, with a broad smile. "Just keep in mind that I'm already way ahead of you."

"You also outweigh me by about six stone," she giggled. "I think you haven't handicapped yourself _enough_."

"Ha! I can fix that." He reached out, grabbed his mug, and drained it for the third time.

"Good! So, what's this game?"

He squinted at her. "Are you good at math?"

"Yes."

"Shit."

Another giggle.

"Oh, well. We don't have a bottle, and 'never have I ever' is boring with two people, so…prepare to win." He wiggled his eyebrows. "We'll take turns counting. Every time you run into a number containing seven, or a multiple of 7, or a number with a repeating digit, you have to say 'horsefeathers.' Whoever misses it has to take a drink."

She nodded. "I can do this. You're in _so_ much trouble."

"I certainly hope so." He grinned. "Okay. You start."

Merrill began counting, and they took turns saying their numbers. Before they'd reached 50, Carver had outdrunk her two to one. The more he drank, the worse his counting and math got. They made it to 100 twice, and by the time they'd finished the wine, his head was positively spinning.

"Girls aren't supposed to win at drinking games, you know." A dark lock of hair fell into his eyes as he gave Merrill a pouty look.

"I did win, didn't I? Is there a prize for that?"

He gave her an appraising glance. Normally he'd have taken that as flirtation, but Merrill was nothing if not straightforward. "Sure," he ventured, with a wink. "How about a kiss from a handsome drunk?"

"Oh! I…" She turned to look at the empty pot of wine as color rose in her cheeks. Then a smile stole slowly over her face, and she turned and looked him in the eye. "You know, I think I'd like that."

He turned his chair toward her and placed his hands flat on his thighs. "Come here."

She pushed her chair back and took a couple of tentative steps toward him. He reached out, took one hand, and slowly pulled her in closer, between his legs.

"It's okay," he said, waving his hands in the air. "I promise I'll keep these to myself. Just…kiss me."

He took her face in his hands as she leaned over and placed a soft, warm kiss on his lips. He knew he should keep his mouth closed, but his wits and the wine went to war, and before he knew it he was tenderly licking her lower lip. When her mouth opened and emitted a half-stifled gasp, he couldn't resist the temptation to slip his tongue inside. It explored and teased, caressed and cajoled, until she responded forcefully and wrapped her fingers in his hair.

He eased her face away from his for a moment and looked into her eyes. "I like you, Merrill. I just want you to know that."

She traced her finger along the dark hair of one eyebrow before leaning over to kiss him again. "I like you too, Carver."

His hands found their way to her bottom, and the next thing he knew she had crawled into his lap, and all he could think of was whether she would feel him through their clothing as she settled down and straddled his waist. Her kisses took his breath away, making his head spin even faster, until he felt he was falling.

A splintering of wood and Merrill's sudden shriek interrupted their embrace as the wobbly chair gave way, and then he really was falling. He landed with a thud and immediately felt a strong, throbbing pain in his arse. Merrill landed on his thighs and fell backward, and her weight threatened to overextend his knees.

"Oh, no!" she cried as she clambered to her feet. "I'm so sorry! I should have known better. I just wasn't thinking…"

"It's all right. Neither was I." His chuckle grew into a belly laugh. "I suppose we deserved that, didn't we?"

"I guess so. I imagine Fen'Harel is having a good laugh at us right now." She smiled as she dusted off her clothing. She extended a hand to Carver.

"Thanks." He pulled himself up carefully, wary that the wine he'd drunk could easily send him crashing right back down again.

Her smile grew rueful. "Carver, I think you'd better go. Before I do something stupid."

Her eyes caught his, and he froze for a moment. He tried not to look too disappointed as he resumed straightening his clothes. "Yes, I suppose you're right. It wouldn't do to rush things. We do have to work together, after all."

"Thank you for understanding." She approached him and reached up to straighten his collar. "If you like, though, I could pack a lunch for us this weekend and we could have a picnic in the hills."

He looked at her. She looked happy. Not guilty, not obligated…just happy. He felt relieved. "That sounds great," he said, and reached down to put on his shoes. "I look forward to it."

She helped him with his coat, and he turned around and gave her one more kiss. Her lips lingered on his, and he was almost tempted to try to push his luck. But no. Not tonight.

"Good night, Merrill. Thanks for the wine. And letting me lose to you in private."

He gave her his warmest smile, and she returned it in full.

"Good night, Carver."

After stepping out into the mist, he turned back to the door and heard the bolt slide home. He braced himself for the drizzly walk back to Gamlen's. When he finished climbing the steps and reached the front door, he realized he hadn't even felt the raindrops slipping down into his collar.


End file.
